The
legend of this majesty, for warming sensation, to gather a glimpse—or stand in
awe; where a soul opens, spotted in mirrors, to witness a floating castle. As
the mystic breathes, so more the experience, as lofty as to feel it!
I
felt the spark, to channel for mind, to become the furnace—refined in parts.
There’s still for vacancy, to chase the blue ribbon, to wonder for better; to
see for spirit, to flag his heart, to soar the great expansion; in which for
sadness, the richest joy, to shift for another level.
Spirit
kindles the flame, to chat at unawares, unless for sought after; in which is
faith, to build a fortress, to know for reasons, to give the affirmative;
whereat to wrestle, even through winds, to speak for yin and yang: the power of
the lessen—the terror of beauty, that inward gong.
The
drums are beating, freely of the winds, where the tribes dance—to see for waves—of
wailing ghosts, to move the oak tree; in which is fire, an ancient home, to
hear it speak: the trail and path, the inward kingdom—the fallen gods.
Oh
the goddess, the beauty of spirit, to chide, laugh and mend the rift; we
channel through pieces—of a portrait—painted on a psyche; we die to live—to
live to die—fully infused—to fill the vacancy; and this is love, to sit the
whirlwind, the three for one.
He
mingled with spirits, to surf through planets, the realms of mystics—where
death watched, to perish in increments, to stand as reborn. He met a woman, the
terror of beauty, to dwell that space—and singing glory, the nights of tribes,
to summons the great depth; in which for pressure,
to
empty vats, spinning through portals; where mercy cried, to reach the
expansion, the indwelling kingdom; where gods mingle love, the flute of the
goddess, streaming through hemispheres. She loved through kef, the earth of
myth, to float through dialogue. Oh the
